On August 4th 2004, I went to Lazy Bear in the Russian River for the first time and met what would turn out to be the only man that ever broke my heart: Cory Howard. When we found out that we both lived in SF we made plans to hang out once back in the city. We started out as casual intimate friends for a couple years, then we both got into relationships with other people. We still hung out and when we were both single again we resumed our torrid love affair.
Though we never defined our relationship, we each viewed it in very different ways. To me, he was beautiful, soulful, artistic, funny, passionate and someone I wanted very desperately to be with. Perhaps too desperately, as I believe he just saw me as a fuck buddy he could talk to and chill with. I was never someone he was going to date.
I wanted him to be my boyfriend and when he caught on, he became very distant. Our hang time shrunk to almost non-existent until I felt like I had to beg him for his time. Eventually my move to LA became a real thing and so on the 10 year anniversary of our meeting, August 4th 2014, I went into the bar that he worked at and had a shot with him and wished him goodbye. The next night I went home and wrote him this letter. While I wish I had the courage to give it to him or say these things to him, I decided that he didn't need the closure that I did, and so I kept it to myself all this time.
That was ten years ago. I've long held on to this letter with hope that I may see him again. I still have to hold back tears when I read it. He's not on social media and never had an email that I knew about, so his phone number was the only way I had to check in on him. Once I had the strength though, I deleted his phone number. He's had my same number all this time and I never heard from him again.
So here we are, two decades in and I still think about him and still wish things had gone differently, but they didn't and I have to keep letting him go every time I think about him.
DearCory,
The last time you saw me… was the last time you’ll see me
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone, fleeing towards the future
Can you remember our last exchange?
Do you remember what we said or how we left it?
Did you feel anything between us?
I was gone when you turned around,
How long before you noticed? Did you notice?
Ten years to the day that you walked into my life
I regretfully walked out of yours
I fought long and hard against the slow fade;
I tried everything I knew to keep you interested
I willfully ignored all of your flags and signs
And accepted every interaction I could get from you
I think you kept hanging around and chatting me up
So I’d get bored and never think you the bad guy
I don’t think of you as the bad guy. Lost Love.
You played an experts game of keeping your distance
While allowing me close enough to know you, to love you
And while I’m a man who has a hold on my emotions,
I do have them, and they hurt when ignored or unnoticed
You had a thousand excuses and prior engagements
You were brilliant at keeping me out
And I’m sure that there were, though I just can’t remember,
Any times when you reached out to me, for anything
When treated so casually, how could I have fallen?
How did I fan that spark into flame?
It was your soul, and your strength and watching you talk about painting
I couldn’t speak openly around you, I just couldn’t waste a moment
Not on anything as petty and selfish as “me”, “I want” or “I need”
Every moment that I spent with you was spent being fully with you.
The rest could be dealt with on my own, later, in my head.
Where I would scream at myself for not speaking out loud
“I want you, I want to be with you, I need you, I need you to want me”
You walked up to me in a campground and said hi
Ten years later, and everyday, from that day to this
I have thought about you and wished…
But I can’t wish anymore.
I can’t hope anymore.
I can’t wait anymore.
I concede.
No drawn out scene.
No emotional tearful goodbye, well, not for you anyway.
Just an anonymous letter in the post.
Reflecting on ten years of friendship and love, mostly good, mostly mine.
I’ll try to think about you less, and I’ll move on to what’s next.
I've
been thinking a lot today about what being a Veteran means to me now.
It was
over 26 years ago that I joined the Navy. I joined in an act of desperation. I
knew that my life was going downhill fast and that if I didn't do something
drastic to change my situation I would end up in prison or dead. I knew that I
had no discipline or organization and I had no real drive to better myself. I
was 22, homeless, unemployed, angry and estranged from society. I had no sense
of belonging.
So I
did the most drastic thing I could think of. Signed my name and offered up my
life; though doing so felt unrealistic and romantic to me at the time. I
learned what integrity meant the day I left for boot camp because I made a
promise, and I am only as good as my word. I learned how to be an adult, and
take care of myself and stand up for myself. I learned how to fight and when to
fight. I learned how important it is to care about the well being of others,
and what my actions ensured for those I loved and those I'd never met.
But
I also learned the unexpected burdens placed on Soldiers. In August of 1998,
Osama Bin Laden bombed two of our US embassies in Africa; killing over 200
people and injuring thousands of others. This happened while my ship, the USS
Shiloh, was in the Gulf of Oman on deployment. In the middle of the night our
ship left the battlegroup behind and did a solo run out of the Gulf. We sounded
the battlestations alarms mid-day and at 7pm the night of August 20th, we fired
13 tomahawk missiles at Afghanistan in retaliation. We remained battle ready
and sped away while Pakistani planes circled us waiting to drop bombs on us
should one of those missiles hit their soil (To be clear, my battle
station was the medical bay, and once the missiles left the ship, we lost all
control over them - They were then being guided by the pentagon).
We
made it out unscathed and several key targets were destroyed. But the mission
came with this burden: innocent civilians died. Some of our intel was faulty
and we destroyed a clinical research lab that provided half the country with
medicines for malaria, diabetes, gonorrhea, and tuberculosis. This caused an
epidemic of infectious diseases amongst the most vulnerable, the poor and the
innocent civilian population. This one misplaced bomb caused a ripple effect
that, over time, can be seen with a much wider perspective.
The USS Cole, which was the same type of ship as ours took the retaliation that was meant for us the following year. 9/11 came three
years after this. Two wars came after this. Millions of refugees were
displaced. Civil wars began, cities and entire histories were leveled. And
while there is and was nothing we as individual sailors, could have done differently, it becomes the
unexpected burden that veterans have to carry. The knowledge that while serving
their country and ensuring our freedoms, their actions cost innocent people
their lives.
This
picture is one of those missiles leaving our ship. Is it The Missile? I don't
know, who could? But it is the only photo from my time in the Navy that I have
hanging in my home, right on my bedroom wall. I need to see it every day to
remind myself that our actions have unforeseen consequences. That if we aren't
careful with ourselves and our deeds, we can cause great, irreparable damage to
others. I use it to remind myself that I fought for what I believed was just
and right; freedom and equality. I still fight for what is just and right for
all people because becoming a man made me realize that
it's all of us or none of us. We are literally all in this together. It is the
fire that was lit in me then and it burns even more brightly now.
I
felt an unexpected bond with people who were once strangers that can't be
duplicated any other way because of this experience. My shipmates became my
family, my conscience and my best reward in the long run. So while I like to
joke and say "I wouldn't do it again, but I wouldn't undo it", what I
really mean is, it helped shape my very being. I am Honor, Courage and
Commitment because of the Navy.
Thank
you for letting me serve, and for bringing me home safe, and for all the
friends I made that kept me safe. Becky, McCartney, Micah, Roy, Playmo,
Roberta, Adam, BJ, Brian, Chad, James, Cody, Jeffrey, Justin
I
ask you to take some time today to think about the people in your lives who
have given this promise to America. Veterans have given their word to protect
this country with everything that they have, including their lives. Remember to
not only thank them and be there for them, but to make sure your commitment to
whatever you do rises to the same level.
(me on the right in my cool kid clothes, with my brother;center and cousin;left, the following summer)
When I started 6th grade I again moved to a new school to follow the special education program as it moved each year. This year brought me closer to home than ever before. A school that my older brother Josh had just left the year before to move to Jr High. I was now a student at Parmalee Elementary School, in Indian Hills, Colorado, just three miles from home.
Three of my major life memories happened during this school year. First, I was on flag duty the day the Challenger exploded. I remember watching it in class, being shocked and crying and then having to leave the classroom to go lower the flag to half mast.
Second, I got my first real hardcore bully. Shawn Mackenzie and his goons. They targeted me because I was in the special-ed classes, and they made my life hell for that year. But I remember being cornered by them one day, in front of the offices and they tried to keep me from going inside, but I yanked the door so hard it pushed him off balance and I remember distinctly, hearing one of his goons say to Shawn, "watch out, he's starting to fight back". I never felt more powerful.
The third thing to happen here was probably the most impactful and life changing thing that happened in my young life that still shapes who I am today. It was here that I discovered acting. The year prior, my mom had made me come to Josh's graduation performance where I watched in amazement as he sang from the choir. And I wanted to do that too. Mrs. Johnston, my teacher somehow got it into her head that a bunch of 6th grade kids had that capability and capacity to do, for their senior show, Gilbert and Sullivan's' operetta "The Mikado". I was the Mikado. I was hooked. And the rest is history.
(Yes, a full scale operetta about geisha's put on by 11 year old white mountain kids)
But that's not today's story... While I like to tell stories about the days that my brother almost died, today's story is one of the day's that I almost died. And it happened one winter day when I was going to school at Parmalee Elementary. It had been a normal mid-winter day, so after the last bell had rung for day I immediately went into hiding/stealth mode as I tried to make my way to the front of the school while avoiding Shawn and his goon-squad. They had started in on me as soon as I had walked into the cafeteria that day at lunch.
He liked to get as close as he could to me so that I was cornered and so that he could use his body to cover his quick punches and pinches from any nearby teachers. I was still a runt at this point, four foot nothin, 70lbs soaking wet and fully dressed and very emotional. In other words, a bully's wet dream. Well, I was little and quick and managed to get away and get to a teacher before he could reach me again and as they separated us he whispered the words that strike fear into nerds everywhere: "after school".
So naturally, I was trying to stealthily get to my bus without being seen while shaking in terror at every sound. Waiting for every approaching footfall to fade away. Taking my time and being invisible. So it should be no surprise to anyone that I not only missed the bus, but by the time I got to the parking lot, most of the teachers had already left as well.
Now you kid's may not understand this, but there was a time when cell phones didn't exist. Neither did GPS to tell me where to go. Only governments had satellites, the internet hadn't been invented and there was no uber to call to take me home. But I was a rough and tumble Colorado Rocky Mountain boy and I decided that I would walk home since the bus ride didn't seem like it was that far... And I felt that for an 11 year old, I had an amazing sense of direction.
Turns out, not so amazing...
While the journey clocked in at a three mile walk, I was a young explorer out in the wilderness and as we all know, you can't discover new things if you stay on someone else's road. About half way through the gulch I look up, and from a distance, I thought I recognized the Kittredge "Mansion" that sat on the mountain right above our house. Josh and I had explored up that mountain and come across that mansion right around the same time that a rumor of a mountain lion hiding under their porch started going around town a year earlier. No correlation, I swear.
The road began to curve away from the big house on the hill and I thought "If I just cut through this field, then over that ridge, then the Kittredge house will be just above me, then it's just a quick jog down the hill to our back yard and I'm home free!
Two things I should mention here. First, though you can see little neighborhood roads on the map that I would have come across on this trek, these are recent additions and they didn't exist then. Only the last road going up to the mansion existed at that time, though I didn't ever notice it when driving to and from school as it just looked like a tiny dirt pull off road. Second, this was in February and the ground was covered with at least two feet of snow and looked a bit more like this:
The Indian Hills Community Center board, also, what that area looks like covered in snow)
Well, it didn't go quite that well... When I got through the field that had much deeper snow that I would have guessed at first glance, I got to the tree line and entered the forest walking slowly and deep in snow over the ridge into the next small valley.
It looks small on the map, but I was 11, and all of a sudden I was in the wilderness with no sign of humanity. I lost sight of the house on the hill and the road and began to wander around that snowy hillside for what felt like an hour. I tried to get to the highest point I could find but I must have gotten turned around somehow because I saw nothing but trees and snow and mountains everywhere I looked.
I'm pretty sure this was where I started crying. I was shivering from the cold, I was wet and I was lost in the woods. As a kid growing up in the mountains I had heard stories of people lost in the woods getting turned around and never being found again. I also knew that when you get lost you are supposed to stay where you are and hope someone finds you.
I knew I couldn't stay where I was because it was snowy out and the sun was setting and the temperature would soon start dropping and being cold and wet, that could end very badly for me. Two things occurred to me, first I was a latchkey kid. Mom and Chuck were both at work and while Josh might be home when I got there, no one would know that I was missing for at least a couple hours. Which brought the second more terrifying thought, that no one knew where I was or where to look. No one had seen me leave school. I hadn't been on the bus. No one had seen me walking down or leaving the road. No one had seen me disappear into the forest. If I didn't find my way out. No one would see me ever again.
(The Forest of Death in Indian Hills)
That motivated me. The terror of being lost frozen forever in the woods was enough to dry my eyes and get my feet moving again. The only trick that I knew for getting yourself out of the snow when you're lost I learned from watching "the Shining". So I looked at all the tracks I had made in the snow and was able to see one particular path of my tracks leading out of the forest, hopefully leading the way I had come. So I started backtracking my own footsteps and before too long I was back into the field and in view of the road.
It's funny how quickly I was able to backtrack, I felt like I had been wandering the woods for hours, but it only took me less than ten minutes to find and get back to the road. Once back on the road, I quickly walked the rest of the way home, cold and wet. And I managed to get home before the sun had set.
I was a smart boy, I loved to read and hear about explorers and go on adventures, but that was the first time I knew I had done the wrong thing. That I had made a mistake big enough to cost a life. Had I stayed scared and not moved I very well may have died right there in that snowy winter forest at the age of eleven. But I liked to read, and we had cable, so thanks to Steven King and Stanley Kubrick for scaring me for pretend so I knew how to survive for real.
(My saving grace, a still from "The Shining". Thank you Steven King!!)
Since the eviction from my 10 year home on Castro Street in Nov of 2012 I bounced around a lot for the next few years. My primary address was a post office box at 584 Castro Street with Steph. Across the street from my ex-forever home.
(My mailing address for the next five years)
On the morning of the eviction, AJ came up from San Jose and helped Danny and I move all our stuff into the moving truck (with the help of some hired labor). The only thing we left behind was the spinet piano that Jack gave us. I almost killed myself moving that 500lb beast up those 31 stairs, I wasn't about to try it again. Plus, I wasn't getting a deposit back so I figured I didn't need to go the extra mile, risking possible death, in clearing the place out.
That last night into the last morning was such a weird experience. It was just Danny and I left in the place, the power was off, we lit the place with candles and tap lights. We opened all the interior doors and saw the place as it was designed originally as a one family flat. My old bedroom would have ben the living room, Danny's old room would have been the den and then Mark's old bedroom would have been the only bedroom. The current living room would have been the dining room and the front fainting room would have also been the child's room. All the bedrooms had interior connecting doors that when opened created this very lavish upscale ambiance. What could have been...
I was an amazing home. And leaving it, Danny and I left not only our home in Castro, but we also left the relationship we had made with it. Amicably going our separate ways as friends and exes, he went back to Concord with his family with Comet. After we finished unloading the truck into three separate storage units AJ drove me and Jinx to live with him in his house on 18th street, in San Jose, where I would stay with him for about a month and a half, until Christmas.
(AJ's place in San Jose, the first time)
For Christmas 2012, our friend Chad Fox (aka: fuck-you-Chad-Fox) was going home to Cleveland to see his parents for the holidays and wouldn't be back until the new year. So Danny and I and our two dogs, Comet and Jinx, leapt at the opportunity to stay at his place on Romolo, a cool converted whorehouse in a back alley in North Beach for two weeks over Christmas. Yes, it really did used to be a whorehouse.
(Chad Fox's converted whorehouse apartment in North Beach)
As I had a well paying job at the moment and wasn't having any luck looking at rooms to rent, I found a posh monthly hotel in the tenderloin that cost me around $350 a week. I moved there from North Beach and stayed there until April of 2013. The downside, no dogs allowed. Luckily Danny was able to take Jinx to Concord with him until I found a place.
(The bougie hotel in the Tenderloin)
I realized what I was spending on the weekly hotel would make it impossible to save for a new place if I kept staying there. I started putting my feelers out and seeing if the room rental market had changed at all. And just as luck would have it, my best lady friend and her wife had just made the decision to make the move to Portland.
No, they weren't taking me with them to Portland, however, they did recognize that they had an extra room. And that a little extra money and time would help them in the move, so, they offered me their spare room for the six months that they were going to use to make the move. So Jinx and I moved into "The Whorehouse" for the spring and summer. This was at 25th and Bryant, in the heart of the Mission District.
(Steph and Jen's place "the Whorehouse" in the Mission)
This was one of the most amazing and healing experiences of my life. Not only did I have space, I had my dog, a job, room to recover from losing a home and partner at the same time. And I learned what it feels like to be truly pampered. I didn't know this about her until I moved in with her, but Steph... is the epitome of the good southern Baptist housewife. In the sense that no matter what she had going on with her day or night (and she was a BUSY woman). She always made breakfast for us in the mornings. And she always had dinner options on the ready when you got home and the martini glasses chilling in the fridge. She fed me, helped me get into classes, pushed my career forward and helped rebuild my confidence. And then, just like that, they were gone to Portland.
Here is where I had to make the hardest decision. In all my searching for a place, each and every one of them; No pets, on the lease. Already too many pets in the house. Place after place after place, I couldn't get a home or room of my own and keep my dog. I love Jinx, and still do, but I had to make the better decision for both her and I. So when Jen asked if they could take Jinx to Portland with them and use her to start up their dog walking business. It seemed like the best option.
It was, by the way. Jinx loved Steph from the first moment they met the day Danny and I adopted her from the SPCA. Much more than she ever loved me, she was clearly a lesbian dog cuz she only ever had eyes for Steph. Also, she was in the prime of her life moving to a place where she could spend hours every day outside running with other dogs. So, Steph and I became co-parents and Jinx went to live with them.
(Liz and Shelly's place on Church and 14th)
After they moved to Portland I moved to Liz and Shelly's place at Church and Market for three months. I knew them from chorus and acting class. And I had just done Steph's first play with Liz. When that three months was up, I still hadn't been able to find a permanent place of my own in SF. They had only agreed to let me stay for a short time, and I didn't want to inconvenience friends that had offered help.
So I found an SRO in the mission and moved in. If you're not familiar, SRO means Single Renter Occupancy. They are essentially cheap, low frills, single person rooms with shared bathrooms in the hallway. Much like a college dorm, no closets, a bed, a table, a chair a mini fridge and a microwave. You won't find an SRO that you would want to stay in. They aren't known for being nice places. The are mostly filled with homeless people, drug addicts, crazy people and people barely hanging on. I didn't feel like I was in that situation, but there I was renting a room.
(The scary shady SRO at Mission and 16th)
This was in December of 2014. I was working every day, taking the Bart to Mission and then spending the nights anywhere other than the SRO. Luckily this place was just a few short blocks from my storage unit, which I had set up with a chair and table so I could go hang out there and cull or read. I can't tell you how many back and forth trips I made from the SRO to storage and back.
(The nicer SRO in North Beach a block from the Transamerica building)
Oh, the other fun thing about SRO's is that in order for them to maintain their status as an SRO in SF, no one can stay for more than three weeks at a time. After three weeks you have to check out and you can't check back in for seven days. So I found a much nicer (and more expensive) SRO in North Beach and I and bounced between the two places for the next few months. There was a week in there that I stayed in Berkeley at Don and Jeff's dog-sitting while they were on vacation. Another week or two in Portland with Steph and Jen both babysitting Jinx and Steph while the latter recovered from surgery. Then when I got back, in late Mar of 2015 Larry Turner generously offered me his spare room for a month so I could help out around the house and watch the kids in his Balboa Park house.
(Larry and the kid's house in Balboa Park)
Right around the time I was at Larry's I got the job at Nextdoor. With that I was finally able to afford a deposit again. and in June of that year I moved to downtown Berkeley, to live with Rev. Annie and her family and rent out the room of her son who had just left to college. They had the most amazing backyard, and pet's that were so much fun. It was a wonderful home that I was warmly welcomed into. We cooked for each other, had game nights and all in all I was able to get my feet back under me.
(Reverend Annie's home in downtown Berkeley)
Around December of that year I started looking at places back in the city, so I could cut my commute time and cost down a bit and because I could afford to find a place that better fit me. I put an ad on Craigslist about myself and what I was looking for in a place and out of some sort of cosmic alignment, a woman named Angie reached out and said she might have a spot for me.
(My room with no windows and bright orange walls)
The spot was a converted garage in her Glen Park home that had two bedrooms with big closets, a shower bathroom and a kitchenette. The only downside as she pointed out was that there was only one window in the entire place, and it was in the bathroom. The room was painted white and neon orange, so surprisingly, it didn't feel dark. It was perfect for me. And the kid who was living in the front room already felt like someone I'd known for a while. Ruben was a fun guy and I enjoyed living there. I stayed for nine months. January to September of 2016.
(The house in Glen Park. I lived behind the big red doors)
While working at Nextdoor I had been saving up so that I could join SAG and by the beginning of summer of that year, I'd done it and I'd joined SAG. This was the last step in my San Francisco plan to advance my acting career before moving to LA. My managers at Nextdoor even said I could keep my job and go fully remote. So in October I moved out of Glen Park and moved back to San Jose with AJ and commuted in to the office two or three days a week for two months and in December of 2016 I made the move. San Jose to Hollywood, Los Angeles.
(AJ's place in San Jose, the second time. His unit was actually in the back of the building)
During the four years between the eviction and the move to LA, I had slowly over time, gotten rid of so much stuff. I moved out of a four bedroom house and filled three 6x10 storage units in 2012. And by the time I started packing the U-Haul towards LA I had less than 20 boxes, a couple suitcases and a bunch of art. I had winnowed down so much that I was really surprised by how little I had left.
Then out of nowhere, in the week that I was moving, I was reminded that I still had my three piece red leather sofa set and Grace was ready to buy her own so I could take it with me. And then Nextdoor also moved their office that week and they said we could take anything we wanted (and they hoped we would) so I got a couple IKEA pieces, a standing desk, two armchairs and an ottoman and a heavy duty microwave. SO wherever I was landing in LA, I had a full set of furniture. Except a bed.
Lucky for me, Chris had a bed that I could buy. Who is Chris you ask? Why, you've already met him. Chris was introduced in my blog post Roommates: A Home on Castro. He was the first roommate I picked when I got the landlord of that house to make me the sole tenant on the lease. Chris was one of my favorite roommates of all time. Nothing phased him, he was like a total stoner, unless he smoked pot, then he was moderately active. He was a friend who I missed and he had a room in his place on Hollywood Blvd.
(Hollywood Boulevard here I am! The first floor to the right of the door)
Chris and I technically shared that place for seven months, December to June of 2017. I say technically because for the first couple months he was there off and on as he was seeing a new beaux and they spent a lot of time at his place. In March, AJ decided he was ready to leave the bay area and go back to the beach in So Cal. So I asked Chris and he was happy to let AJ have his room as he and his boyfriend had decided to move in together.
So while he gave his notice to the landlord, we all hoped that the landlord would just sign a new lease with me as I was already living there. Unfortunately, the landlord was trying to retire and places are easier to sell if they don't already have tenants so he declined and AJ and I started looking for a place to live.
AJ, being from LA drove us around to all the neighborhoods that he thought I'd like. He planned on moving to Palm Springs, so we were really only looking for me. WeHo: too expensive, Silverlake: nice but hipsterish. Then he saw an ad for a place in Koreatown and figured it was a nice old brick building, in the miracle mile and we might as well take a look. We came to see the place, it was on South Gramercy Pl and was a beautiful old brick building with white trim. We went to the call box and rang. And rang... and rang and rang. No answer. We waited for about 30 minutes and no one ever answered. We got back in the car all huffy and at that moment AJ happened to look up.
(My current home on South Gramercy Place)
Across the street from the brick building was another tall old concrete apartment building. Steepled rooves with rod iron spindles and weathervanes, with trees and an awning and plants creeping up the outside front walls. It looked like a building you'd see off the park in New York. And on the side of the building was a sign that said apartments and gave the phone number. We looked at each other and I called the number.
"Hello, who's this?" a raspy lady with a smokers voice and a New Yorkers attitude asked.
"Hi, my name is Shane and I saw the sign on the building and was wondering if you had any available unit's that I could look at."
"Yeah, fine, come up. I'm on the fourth floor, Peggy."
She buzzed us in and we went up to her apartment. Miss Peggy is who the word "spitfire" was made for. She was an eighty something, tough as nails, no bullshit type of lady who'd been doin this since before I was a twinkle in my daddy's eye. She took us through two apartments, the two bedroom and the one bedroom. While the two bedroom was nice, AJ wasn't planning on staying, so we looked at the one bedroom and as soon as I entered the living room I saw that beautiful old brick building across the street through trees that reached just up to my windows and I saw all the delicate wainscoting on the living room wall, I knew I was home.
I must have gasped or something, cuz AJ snapped his neck towards me, looked at me and immediately went into negotiation mode. Surprisingly there was no need.
"I don't do any of that new fangled internet shit. I ain't gonna run your credit. If I like you I'll rent to you and that's the way I always done it. I like you, you want the place? Done."
We filled out the paperwork, I put down the money and she gave me the keys. It was done in less than 15 minutes. I finally had a home again. From November of 2012 to June of 2017, just under five years, I had lived at fifteen different addresses. I spent five years desperately clinging to the city that I loved so much. The City that had given me life and opportunity and dreams and joy. San Francisco is not only the place I spent the longest portion of my life, it's also the place I mean when I say "home". And it will always be thus.
(the view from the top of Dolores Park, aka, the gay beach of SF)
Broke-Ass Stuart was right in his poem "Rent Control is a Golden Handcuff", he says:
"Living in San Francisco and having rent control has become a sort of golden handcuff if you ever need to leave, or get evicted, you have to essentially trade in your SanFrancisco citizenship. The Visigoths are at the gate and they will gladly take your place."
There is a word in Welsh that I always felt best describes how I feel about San Francisco. "Hiraeth"; it is a homesickness or longing for place that no longer exists or only exists in memory.
(Took this on the corner of Market and Noe on one of my trips home)
In June of 2017 I moved into my current apartment on Gramercy Pl in Koreatown. Here, I decided that I would unpack, put the art up on the walls, and stay for a while. It's been six years so far. That makes this the second longest home that I've lived in after the ten years on Castro. And I've made so many amazing memories here and hope to make many more.
You may not know this, but I don't actually date a lot.
I know, you're shocked. A charmer like me. This wit, this humor, this hair.
Still, I don't go on many dates. And by dates of course I mean, a date with a man, um, outside the house, doing something. To be honest, I don't know that I've been on more than twenty of these types of dates in my life.
Remember, I've only had one boyfriend for five years, and while we did do a bunch of things out of the house, those are all dates already in a relationship. I'm talking about getting to know someone new, romantically, dates. Which again, should not be lumped together with sexy no pant's parties, of which I have had my fair share. Fine, I've had several peoples shares.
But back to actual first dates, the last one I went on, right when I moved to LA was so weird that I just haven't since. We met on the apps as all the gays these days do. Chatted for a few months before agreeing to meet. He had a bunch of photo's and was ridiculously stacked (that means muscular to you newbies), well dressed and very very good looking.
He was a lawyer who worked for a big company that he couldn't talk about because NDA's or whatever. So we just kind of got to know each other over chat and seemed to click. My favorite thing about him was that he loved to read. He said it was hard to find a partner that would sit in silence together with him, which I've always wanted as I'm also a big reader.
Well, after a couple months of this we finally decided to go on a date. I was living with my bestie AJ in Hollywood at this time, so I let him know that I was going to be going on a date and that we might end up back in my room. He was of course happy for me. Anytime he thinks I'm going to get laid he does a little dance I swear.
The Friday night came and he arrived promptly at 7pm. His pictures were not lying. This Adonis was FINE. Like, holy hell this man can't be really real in my home, fine. Like, my knees nearly fell out he was so good looking. And a 1000 watt smile that melted me. I'm sure I blushed and giggled way too much. I should mention here that when he came to pick me up, he came inside and met AJ. It's important later.
We started out by going to get a coffee at a Starbucks near the restaurant he wanted to take me to. I don't remember if he ever told me the name of the place. Only in hindsight does it seem weird to have a coffee date at dinner time. We sat there for about twenty to twenty five minutes just chatting and flirting and what not. I'm thinking, oh yeah, he's definitely gonna end up in my bed tonight...
Just then, his phone starts going off. Like text and calls going off. He looks, looks up and me and I gesture for him to go ahead and take it if it's important. He says it's his boss and I nod and he steps away to take the call. It's not a long call, maybe seven minutes. But when he comes back to the table his smile is gone and our date appears to be over. He has to go back to the office as something urgent has come up and he needs to do it now.
I totally understand and say don't worry about it at all, we can do dinner when the emergency is over. He's driving me home and expressing how much he was looking forward to it and how much he liked me and really was looking forward to having a great night with me (wink wink, sexy side smile). So when we get to my place and he get's out to walk me to my door, he says, hold on, he has an idea.
He goes to his trunk and pulls out a suitcase.
He says it's his clothes that he's taking with him on his trip to Puerto Rico for his friends birthday the following weekend (A thing he invited me on prior to our first date mind you). He's gonna leave it with me as his promise that he's going to come back and see me as soon as the emergency has passed. I said that's a sweet gesture, but he doesn't have to, I believe he will try to see me when he is free.
However, he insists, and I agree and take the suitcase. He gives me a long sensual passionate kiss that I managed to not faint during and he smiles and says he'll text me and then he runs back to his car and drives off. I go back inside and explain to AJ why I'm home early, alone and with luggage.
AJ makes me a small dinner and we sit down in the living room to watch TV. I get a few texts from my date shortly after he dropped me off. Funny comments, flirty comments, status updates. This goes on for about an hour and a half after he dropped me off but then peters out. By ten at night I figure he's probably not going to get back to me and I start my nightly bedtime routine.
Around 11 I'm sitting in the living room with AJ and my phone rings. It's my date. He's asking where I am. I say what do you mean, I'm at home where you dropped me. It's very loud on his end, I can't quite tell where he is but he is yelling into the phone. He asks again where am I, and I ask why? AJ is looking at me confused and I'm feeling pretty confused.
Then my date yells "Where are you? I'm here with your roommate, he said you're here. Where are you?"
AJ and I look at each other very confused now. and I tell him to go where he can hear me. It takes a few minutes but it does get a little quieter and he repeats himself. Asking where I am, telling me he is standing with my roommate who he just met earlier, and I explain that I am at home where he dropped me, sitting with my roommate. He tries for five minutes to convince me and AJ that he is out with AJ. He seems very confused and like he might be drunk.
So I ask him, "where are you at?"
"I'm out at Mickeys, where are you?"
"I'm at home still, did your work thing get cleared up?"
"What work thing"
"The emergency that came up while we were on our date?"
"What?"
"What's going on, you ended our date because you said you had a work emergency and now you're calling me from the club, drunk it sounds like..."
No response.
"Hello?"
"Ok, I'll see you later" he says and then disconnects.
AJ and I are looking at each other dumbstruck. What the hell just happened? So now I have been ditched by someone who wanted to go get drunk at the clubs and he left his suitcase in my house. We both laugh over the absurdity of it all and then we call it a night and go to our separate rooms and go to sleep.
Around 3:30 in the morning I am woken from my sleep by three things. One, someone is pounding on my front door. Two, someone is pounding on my ceiling from the apartment upstairs and third my phone is ringing and it's AJ telling me my date is screaming my name at the front door.
I get up and get dressed and make my way into the living room to the front door. I snatch the door open with a full booming voice I say "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"
"Oh thank god! I've been trying to find you for hours!"
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I thought you said I could spend the night?"
"Seriously? I said I hope we get to spend the night together, not I hope you get to ditch me, get hammered at the club, run around all night and then come back and black out in my bed!"
"Can I come in for a minute, please?"
"Why?"
"My phone is dead, I couldn't call you. My charger is in my bag and you have that."
"Fine, you can get your bag and go." I say as I let him in. I walk to my bedroom and he follows. I go in and go around the bed to grab his bag and when I turn around he is shirtless laying on my bed. Goddam those muscles. Goddam that stupid smile.
"Can I just charge my phone a little bit? Come here, lay down with me..."
"Can't you charge your phone in your car?"
"No, I didn't drive, I've been drinking. Come lay with me..."
"No, and you can't stay here, that ship has sailed."
I turn around and plug his phone in on my iphone charger, when I turn back to him he is already asleep. The snoring starts immediately. I am so angry at this point. Ditched me on our date, went out without me to a place I totally would have gone, get's fucking wrecked and then has the nerve to come try and crash on my bed. Hell's fucking no.
I sat there for twenty five minutes watching his phone charge. As soon as it was at 25% I shook his ass awake and told him to call an uber and get the fuck out of my house.
He starts to protest, suddenly he's saying he can't go home as they are fumigating his place right now. He says that's why he has his suitcase. So I pick up his suitcase and walk it out my front door. He reluctantly get's up and sheepishly walks out, apologizing the whole way. I don't hear a word of it. As soon as he's out I slam and lock the door.
I don't know what happened to him, I don't know what he was thinking, I don't know what was going on in his life. But I wanted none of it, no matter how good looking and muscular he was. Not worth it.
He flirted with me again about two years later on a different app. When I reminded him of our previous date he apologized and said he was under a lot of pressure then and was getting pulled into the wrong crowds doing a lot of drugs. He said he was out of it now, and while I said I was happy he was better, I wasn't interested in a second date. He said he understood and that was the last time I ever heard from him.
One winter morning somewhere near the beginning of Christmas break in '82, Josh and I had been outside playing and screaming and eventually fighting with each other in the freshly fallen feet of snow deep in the Colorado Rockies. It was the first lull in what would come to be known as "the great blizzard of '82, where Santa never came" (I know... that's a whole other story...).
Well, as usually ended up happening, halfway through playing I went and hid from Josh. He assumed we were done playing and went inside to ignore me. I watched him from outside for a while hoping to lure him back out, which didn't work. So eventually when I felt it was safe, I quietly snuck in the back door. Right inside was the laundry room separated by only the inverted L shaped hallway that led to the living room. I tiptoed in and silently buried myself under the dirty laundry and waited for someone to notice I was gone.
Before I had drifted into a deep sleep I heard my mom ask "Where is Shane?"
Followed immediately by a grunt of "uh don know" from Josh.
"When was the last time you saw your brother?"
"I don't know, A while ago... like twenty minutes or something."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. He ran off..."
"Explain, Please."
"We were playin and he got all weird and ran off. I came in and sat down in front of the TV, jeeze."
"Did he come back inside?"
"Um... No... I don't know."
"Josh... Look outside."
Although I couldn't see it I got the drift that the blizzard had had enough of a break and was beginning to wake up. If you've never been in a blizzard before, just know that once it's coming down you can't see more than five feet in front of you.
"Are you telling me that you left Shane outside, and he hasn't come in, and it is snowing like that out?"
There was no answer. There never was an answer to a question like that. In fact, in mom talk... any answer to a question like that is a wrong answer.
The only correct answer was "I think I'll go find my brother, right now."
Moments of silence seemed to pass as I strained to hear into the living room. I heard the unbearable silence that is "the stare" from mom followed by the opening and closing of the front door. Mom cursed under her breath, and got up and started pacing around the living room and kitchen.
After what seemed like hours (ten minutes or so) mom in her aimless wandering came back to the laundry room. She stood in front of the machines for a minute or two, just lost in thought. I was wide awake and trying not to let her hear me breathing. I quickly made up my mind to lie to my mother.
If she discovered me I would tell her that I had had a fight with Josh, and had come around the house and gone in the back door and cried myself to sleep in the laundry.
I figured there was some truth in the statement, and Josh would be back momentarily saying he couldn't find me and it would all be no harm no foul anyway.
I prepared myself for discovery and began my illustrious acting career with my infamous "cute boy sleeping". I closed my eyes, and relaxed my body and held my mouth slightly ajar so I could breath through my mouth and avoid detection, but it would look like I was just sleeping with my mouth open if she saw me. Which of course she did. As soon as she noticed she was standing in front of the machines she automatically reached over and grabbed a handful of laundry, uncovering my face in the process.
I made my mom scream in terror, an earsplitting high pitch. My eyes shot open wide and I bunched up fast not quite sure why she reacted so shockingly. Quick on my feet I thought... stick to the story... she just woke you up... stick to the story!!
"How long have you been sleeping here??" she asked me still slightly hysterical.
"I don't know" I said, which was true, what seven year old boy really keeps track of time?
"Josh and I had a fight and I came in and went to sleep in the laundry. Why?"
"Because we didn't know where you were! Josh is outside looking for you!! Go sit in the living room please. And see if you can see your brother out the window."
I went to the living room as directed... well... by way of getting myself a glass of milk from the kitchen that is. As I set my milk down on the counter, I heard hard heavy footfalls climbing our front stairwell. When the footfalls reached the landing and came around the porch passing the living room windows I saw who was making those urgent sounds, and why... and my only thought was "MOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!"
Just as I reached the front door, mom ran into the living room and Nick, our neighbor, burst through carrying a crying Josh in his arms, he was gushing blood from his head.
Josh had been out looking for me and he took a path that led under the neighboring duplex porch, under Nicks apartment. He had been carefully looking down and watching his footing and therefore missed the overhanging icicles that were waiting for him to raise his head and look up. As soon as he did a large icicle ripped through the skin on the top of his head, and he let out a shout of pain, which Nick heard from upstairs.
Nick was an army medic in Vietnam, and possibly one of the sweetest kindest people we ever met. I remember him with light brown hair, possibly dusted with blond. Quiet and quite good looking in the haunted mountain man next door kind of way. He welcomed us to the street and shared bbq's and movie nights and even a few holidays with us. He had a sweet girlfriend and seemed to be an all around good guy.
He had found Josh through the quickening snow and his medic training kicked in. The moment he walked in he was in charge. My mom barely got out a scream before he was telling her to grab clean towels and follow him into the bathroom. He had his own suture kit and had Josh's shirt off and had him in the tub before she got in there. He washed his wounds while telling her what to do next. Josh sat silently sobbing and soaking in the tub while I watched on from the corner outside the door.
Time seems somehow frozen on that moment for me. Nick reaching into the tub in his red flannel, holding Josh by the top of the head, sutures in hand. The terrified stunned look on Josh's face, like he still didn't know what was going on. Watching mom becoming calm and steady under Nicks confidence... it was the first time I ever remember seeing her give up control.
Then it was done. Nick tied off the last stitch in what must have been record time, and gently held Josh's head under the water and rinsed him off. He turned the water off, wrapped Josh in a towel and pulled him out of the tub.
"Yeah, your'e alright aren't you..." he said. Josh nodded.
Mom swept Josh into the living room and piled on the blankets, then went to heat some hot chocolate for him. I was still stuck at the corner of the bathroom. I couldn't stop watching Nick. He was cleaning up the blood and his tools and gathering the trash. He was silent while cleaning, and I saw him looking at the blood as if the sight of it transported him instantly back to Vietnam unleashing his trauma. Although I didn't know or understand any of this then.
I was just fascinated by the fact that everything you know about a person can completely change in an instant. Before, he was just our cool laid back friendly neighbor, but for those brief few minutes that winter I saw the man that Nick was meant to be, it not for war.
When the spring broke that year Nick took Josh and I out to the mountain that was our back yard. He had a sort of tree-fort that he wanted to show us. Well, not as much a fort as a bunch of wood nailed to a tree. A few boards nailed on for a ladder and a couple of basic platforms in the tree. It was his place, where he came to think and be alone. He took us up there that day because it was a perfect tree to teach us how to shoot a bow and arrow.
It was a good day, and he was a good man.
Before summer break arrived mere months later, we came home to the shocking and heartbreaking news that Nick had gone up to his tree-fort and he had shot himself. He was gone. I don't think he was even thirty yet. I didn't understand then what he must have gone through in the war, the friends he must have lost and the horror he must have seen. I do now. I sometimes wonder if that was subconsciously why I became a Navy medic.
I think of him from time to time when I help someone with something medical, and sometimes even when I see my brother. Because while you can't see it on him, I remember Nick because he left a scar.
